


I Know Where You Sleep

by scrapbullet



Category: Hellraiser & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Character(s), Nightmares, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 04:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6315037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a nightmare that lingers. Blink, and the after-image remains, a monster with only hunger in its eyes and Steve, since leaving the Channard Institute, has been unable to sleep from terror and guilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know Where You Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Just a wee bit of musing as to what happens to Steve post movie.

He sees that _thing_ every time he closes his eyes.

It’s a nightmare that lingers. Blink, and the after-image remains, a monster with only hunger in its eyes and Steve, since leaving the Channard Institute, has been unable to sleep from terror and guilt.

The stink of his own fear-sweat stings his nostrils. The bed sheets are soaked through - the alarm clock reads five past three in the morning, and he’s slept a mere thirty minutes before the dream had woken him. His heart thuds in his chest. Shuddering, his skin pimples from cold, and if he rubs his eyes hard enough the bright white static hides the memory of chains and thick-wet-soft flesh falling in clumps to the ground. His ears ring from the screams.

There’s a rawness in his throat when he swallows, alongside the metallic tang of iron. His screams. His body, being taken apart piece by piece. His torture, and the throaty murmur of a woman - head bald and skin so white it’s blue, cooing seductively in his ear.

It’s funny, he’d barely glimpsed the horror and still it’s managed to sink its claws in him.

( _“Just an appetizer,”_ she says, and the fullness of her lips are cold against his cheek. Her knife is but an extension of her body, parting flesh and muscle with near-surgical precision. _“From a friend of a friend. Are you salivating, little boy?”_ )

Kirsty’s tale had seemed fantastical, then, with the house in ruins and her hands trembling as she’d recounted it to the cops, nails digging in to his hand. He believed her. He hadn’t believed her. He left her there, when they said he could leave, too scared to look her in the eye in case he fell in them, and drowned.

He’s a coward. He left her there, and then...

_God. What a fucking mess._

Is there even a God? Steve huffs a laugh, almost manic, as he scrubs away the salt-dry evidence of tears on his cheeks. He’s pathetic. A bad trip and a few fucked-up dreams and look at him. Kirsty would laugh at him. She’d punch him first, but she’d laugh at him.

Fuck, she isn’t going to return his calls, is she?

He doesn’t blame her.

(In the hollow of his chest there’s a stone that sits heavy, a perfect cube engraved with sinister markings so fine that when he traces the intricate lines his fingers feel slow and clumsy. Each motion, of thumb following the circular indent, over and over again, brings more nightmares, more blood, and yet he can’t seem to stop himself.

It’s addictive. He’s caught, and her nails are like claws as she flays the skin from his body until he’s weeping, unsure whether it’s joy or terror. 

_“Do you approve?”_ She questions, amused, and even with the pain Steve turns his face to her like a flower in the sun. _“You seek absolution for your guilt. Let me give it to you."_

He wants to say no. Wants to scream it until his voice gives way. 

He says nothing, and so she rewards him by uncoiling the vast length of his intestines and wrapping them around his neck. 

_A short drop and a sudden stop-_ )

Rolling over on to a dry part of bedding, Steve tucks an arm under his pillow and stares at the flashing light on the clock. He sighs, exhausted, and allows his eyes to close. He needs sleep. Sleep is what he needs.

He dozes, finally, soothed by a distant, eerie melody.


End file.
